Nan Goldin's "The Ballad of Sexual Dependency" is an electrifying montage of intimate moments, captured with precision and poise that still holds relevance today. The series of photographs taken between 1973 and 1986 offers a glimpse into the lives of Goldin and her circle of friends – people who shared bedrooms, holidays, and silences – as they navigated love, loss, and identity.
The show is presented in various formats over the years, including video, book, and slide shows that play for up to 45 minutes with changing soundtracks. However, it's when you immerse yourself among these prints that their effect becomes cumulative and electrifying. Goldin displays her photographs in a way that sends your eye skittering between images, pinballing between captured moments and emotions. We're whisked away through time, catching glimpses of the artist's parents, Mexican couples on the brink of divorce, macho guys and sorrowful ones – all amidst an onslaught of tender intimacy, party revelry, and sullen silences.
The photographs evoke a sense of mystery around Goldin's intentions and what exactly she was trying to convey. The titles hint at a story that remains elusive, leaving you on the brink. This is part of the series' enduring appeal – each photograph always leaves you wondering: "What's the story?"
What strikes now is how normal these lives seem in comparison to today's social media-driven world where people curate their lives and post images as an ever-updated mirage of their experiences. Back then, Goldin just had a camera, capturing life on the fly – and her audience were her peers who witnessed it firsthand.
Her photographs show that not everyone who can hold a phone can take pictures worth looking at. She was never one to fake intimacy or pose; she captured her emotions truthfully in whatever moment she found herself.
The show is presented in various formats over the years, including video, book, and slide shows that play for up to 45 minutes with changing soundtracks. However, it's when you immerse yourself among these prints that their effect becomes cumulative and electrifying. Goldin displays her photographs in a way that sends your eye skittering between images, pinballing between captured moments and emotions. We're whisked away through time, catching glimpses of the artist's parents, Mexican couples on the brink of divorce, macho guys and sorrowful ones – all amidst an onslaught of tender intimacy, party revelry, and sullen silences.
The photographs evoke a sense of mystery around Goldin's intentions and what exactly she was trying to convey. The titles hint at a story that remains elusive, leaving you on the brink. This is part of the series' enduring appeal – each photograph always leaves you wondering: "What's the story?"
What strikes now is how normal these lives seem in comparison to today's social media-driven world where people curate their lives and post images as an ever-updated mirage of their experiences. Back then, Goldin just had a camera, capturing life on the fly – and her audience were her peers who witnessed it firsthand.
Her photographs show that not everyone who can hold a phone can take pictures worth looking at. She was never one to fake intimacy or pose; she captured her emotions truthfully in whatever moment she found herself.